


handful of wandering destinies

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, Gen, Party Swap, Role Reversal, does it count if you swap the parties, some canon-typical gore at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 04:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15111509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: “Morning, sleepyhead,” comes the greeting, and he turns to see Vex, kicking the door closed as she adjusts her hold on the pitcher of water from downstairs from downstairs. Vax’s parched throat aches, too painful for Vax to be able to ignore, and Vex says, “You’ve been out for twenty hours.”“Wait, wait,” says Vax, alarmed now, his voice hoarse from how long he spent asleep, “what?”or: in a sleepy trade stop called Trostenwald, the threads of fate start to intertwine. in one universe, these threads belong to the Mighty Nein.in this one, these threads belong to the group that will one day be known as Vox Machina.





	handful of wandering destinies

**Author's Note:**

> title from the beginning narration of episode 1, "Curious Beginnings".
> 
> yes, this means the Mighty Nein were the ones that killed both the Conclave and Vecna twenty years ago in this 'verse.

When Vax wakes up, Trinket is sleeping at the foot of his bed, a small cub curled up and snoring fitfully into the shabby carpet.

He sits up, and a dull throb of pain lances through his chest. He winces—that arrow had gone in _deep_ , apparently.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” comes the greeting, and he turns to see Vex, kicking the door closed as she adjusts her hold on the pitcher of water from downstairs from downstairs. Vax’s parched throat aches, too painful for Vax to be able to ignore, and Vex says, “You’ve been out for twenty hours.”

“Wait, wait,” says Vax, alarmed now, his voice hoarse from how long he spent asleep, “ _what?_ ”

“It was touch and go for a while there,” says Vex, sitting down and putting the pitcher and a glass on the bedside drawer, “but you’re all right now. Thanks to my ministrations.”

Vax flicks her shoulder, and says, “You let me sleep for almost a whole _day_.”

“You were so peaceful and non-annoying for the first time in six months that I couldn’t bear to wake you up!” says Vex. “After the day we had, you deserved a bit of beauty sleep.”

“Funny, I don’t feel beautiful,” Vax grumbles, rubbing at his eyes and reaching for the glass. “Did anyone recognize you?” he asks, pouring some water for himself.

“I didn’t say it worked, Vax,” says Vex, dryly. “And no, no one pointed at me in the street while I was out and yelled about our father or Saundor. Trostenwald is far enough away that we don’t have to worry too much about that.” She sits at the edge of the bed, and lifts Trinket to settle him gently on her lap. The little cub gives an affectionate, albeit sleepy, moan, and goes right back to sleep.

It’s—strange, having a twin again. Vax remembers Vex as this scrappy young thing, mud on her knees and fire in her eyes. The fire’s still there and so is the scrappiness, but time with their father has sharpened all her edges and hidden them poorly under silk.

Or cotton and wool, right now. Better than the rags they were both wearing when they met back up in a jail cell.

Although—shit, Vax needs a bath. His clothes smell faintly like mud and dirt and dried blood. Oh, and bear.

“You need a bath, by the way, and your clothes need washing,” says Vex, at about the same time he thinks this.

“There’s a bath house in town we can stop at, on our way out,” says Vax, leaning against the back of the bed. The throb of pain in his chest is at a more manageable level now, and in a few hours it’ll be almost as good as new. “From what I’ve heard, they’re willing to wash clothes for a few more silvers.”

Vex’s lips press into a thin line. “Damn it,” she mutters, looking away and running her hand through her hair.

“We’ve got enough money from the job the other day,” says Vax. “We’ll be fine.”

“You almost _died_ the other day,” Vex retorts, looking back at him with a faint crease of worry between her eyebrows. “You were unconscious for twenty hours, and you _still_ look like hell.”

He does feel like it, too. His head still feels a little cottony, his throat only slightly less parched by the water, and he imagines he must still look a bruised, battered mess. The last job had not been easy, by any means, and he’s vaguely surprised he’s not suffering from worse injuries. Or _dead_ , but he’s got Vex to thank for that.

“Thank you,” he says, quietly. “For saving me.”

Vex startles. She’s half a stranger to him, this sister of his, the years between today and that fateful Winter’s Crest when their father took her away stretching the distance between them, but he still knows what she looks like when caught off-guard: eyes wide, hands stilling, mouth opening slightly.

She wipes the look of startlement away, like drops of water on a mirror. “You’re welcome,” she says. “Yesterday was—not great.”

“Very not great,” Vax agrees, and risks reaching out to her hand, in an attempt to reassure her. He’s not sure if it worked, because she goes still again and looks away, down at Trinket. “But we’ll do better today.”

“We will,” Vex says, not looking up. But she’s stroking Trinket’s fur, smoothing back the fur on his fuzzy little head.

Trinket groans in her lap, and stretches a little as he wakes, blinking beady eyes up at her before he tries to clamber off onto the ground. “Okay, okay, boy,” laughs Vex, gently lowering the cub down, then she glances at Vax and asks, “Feel like eating breakfast downstairs, or should I carry it up here?”

“I’ll take it downstairs with you,” says Vax, swinging his legs off the bed and wincing as he stands. “I’ve been in bed too long already.” He stretches his arms up over his head, hearing joints crack and pop. “What’s on our to-do list today?”

“Breakfast first,” says Vex. “I’m not sure about you going back into town right away, fresh off of almost _dying_.”

“We still need healing potions, though,” Vax points out, as he drags his pack out from under the bed and starts organizing. “Did you let Trinket at my pack again?” he asks.

“I didn’t _let_ Trinket at your pack, he just rummaged through it,” says Vex, as Trinket’s wet nose bumps up against Vax’s cheek. “You’re lucky I dragged him away in time, or else you’d have even more bear fur all over your clothes.”

Vax rolls his eyes at her, and reshuffles his things so they have a semblance of order to them once more. The smell of eggs and bacon and cheese wafts up from below, drifting in through the cracks in the wood, and Vax’s stomach growls loud enough that he’s half-certain everyone downstairs heard it.

“We’ll need more arrows,” says Vex. “I’m running low. We need rations in case we have to go off the road, food for Trinket, better armor than what we have right now, and you lost a couple daggers, right?”

“I did,” Vax confirms.

“We’ll have to pick those up too,” says Vex.

“Let’s worry about that later,” says Vax, standing up. “For now, let’s go see about breakfast.”

\--

A fisherman sits down at a table with a gnome in armor, a human in a once-fine coat, and a half-elf in furs and leathers, and says, “I thank you for your time, Pike, and—I apologize, I forget your names.”

“Keyleth,” says Keyleth, leaning forward with bright eyes, red hair falling past her shoulders.

“Keyleth,” echoes the fisherman. “And?”

Percy cuts into the tough bacon with his pocket knife, and says, “Percy.” _Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III,_ he would’ve said, once, but once he wouldn’t be here, in a tavern in a small town, back to the wall watching the patrons with a wary eye. “Just Percy,” he adds, now.

“Percy,” says the fisherman—Rinaldo, wasn’t it? Yeah. “Thank you, all of you. You all came when no one else would yesterday, and because of your help, my daughter is alive.”

“It was the least we could do,” says Keyleth, earnestly.

“Is your daughter all right now?” says Pike, concerned, resting her elbows on the table. They’re both good people, these two women that Percy’s somehow fallen in with, good and kind and earnest the way Percy hasn’t been in—fuck, _years_. Not since the Briarwoods. He doesn’t know how he’s still around them, how they can still stand to keep him.

God, he needs a drink.

“She’s—She’s all right, thank you for asking,” says Rinaldo. “Shaken, but all right.”

“I’m glad,” says Pike, warmly.

Percy picks that exact time to glance up, just in time to catch Pike looking at him, her eyebrows going up into the fringes of her dark bangs. They’ve been together for a few days now, the three of them, and he’s—

Well, _him_.

He sighs. He may as well.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking at the fisherman, “for the pessimism I showed you when you first came to us. That was unworthy of me, it was only—I’m not entirely used to things turning out _well_.”

Rinaldo shrugs, and says, “It’s all right. You’ll do well this side of the Empire, at least.” He fishes around in his pockets. “Anyway, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you all have other things to do, but when we spoke yesterday I sent you on your way with nothing but my gratitude.”

“We’re okay with just gratitude,” says Pike. “Really, we are.”

“Gratitude is hardly _enough_ , for everything you did for me and the others,” says Rinaldo, fishing out the hat he’d worn when they first met, a faded thing that might, once, have been called a beret. Something jingles inside of it, and Percy sits straighter, well aware suddenly of the gun in his holster, still needing repairs he can’t afford. “So I asked them, and we all chipped in a bit of coin for your troubles.”

“You didn’t have to,” starts Keyleth, but Rinaldo’s already turned his hat over.

Silver and copper coins cascade out of the cap and onto the table, clattering onto wood and spilling onto the floor. Percy fancies he sights a couple of gold coins there, as well, and he glances around the tavern again.

His eyes catch on two half-elves, seated together next to his, Pike and Keyleth’s table—twins, it looks like, both of them dark-haired and fair of face, one of them bruised and clad in dark leathers meant to help him blend in, the other not quite as banged up, feeding bacon to a—

Percy blinks. Is that a _bear cub_?

“I hope it’s helpful,” says Rinaldo, dragging Percy’s attention back to him. He’s clutching his hat close to his chest, looking at the three of them as though they’re, fuck, _angels_ or something. Percy wants to tell him not to bother, not with him, because he’s damned. Has been damned for a while.

“We can’t accept this,” says Keyleth, suddenly. “We can’t just take your money, this is too much—”

“Really, it’s fine,” says Pike, “we aren’t—we don’t need this much, I’ve still got enough money left over myself. You need this more than we do.”

“But,” starts Rinaldo.

“How many people did you go to,” says Percy, distantly, scooping up some coins in his hand, “to put together this much money?”

“Oh, uh,” says Rinaldo, scratching his head. “Everyone I knew. Some I didn’t. Everyone you three helped, killing that snake.”

Which, from what Percy recalls, is a population that overlaps greatly with the rather large community of fishermen and sailors in this town. “Well,” he says, “I wouldn’t want to turn down such a generous gift.” He glances at Pike and Keyleth, and says, “We’ll take it. Save you the trouble of having to return all of this.”

Rinaldo gives a relieved sigh, and says, “Thank you very much.” He stands, placing his cap back on his head and pulling it down. “I’ll get out of your way, then. Good day,” he says, before he turns on his heel and walks away.

Keyleth turns to Percy and says, “What the _hell_?”

“It’s a gift,” says Percy. “It’s rude to turn down a gift.”

“Did you not _see_ the state of his _house_?” Keyleth says. “What if he needed that money for repairs?”

“He’s not the only one who paid us,” Percy reminds her. “From what he’s said, all of this was a community effort.” And he needs to get his gun repaired. This’ll put him closer to getting the materials he needs. “Besides, it’s a waste of a gift if we turned it down.”

“I don’t know, we didn’t exactly set out for a reward when we took on that snake,” says Pike. “And Keyleth’s got a point.”

“I didn’t either,” says Percy, “but unlike either of you, I’m broke and I have a couple of repairs I need to make.” He scoops up some of the coins that have fallen on the floor, and starts sorting carefully through the mess. “How do we want to split this reward?” he asks. “If we’re planning to split this at all.”

“Here, let me,” says Pike, after a moment’s hesitation. “My dad used to put me on copper-counting duty, I can split it as fairly as possible between the three of us.”

“Please do,” says Percy, gratefully giving up his duty as Pike starts counting out the coins. “Maybe you could buy better armor, with this.”

“Or just more oil,” Keyleth suggests.

Pike huffs out a breath. “I know, I know,” she says. “Now that I think about it, I’ve been meaning to get a shield. I get shot with arrows a _lot_.”

Percy lets his attention drift away from the two girls, back to the half-elves seated at the table next to them. And their bear cub, apparently. All of them are paying a little too much attention to their little table, although to their credit, at least they’re subtle about it, stealing quick glances when no one else is watching.

The problem is that Percy’s far too paranoid _not_ to watch, and so he notices the little bear cub getting up and lumbering over to their table. He’s fairly certain that was on purpose. He keeps a watchful eye on the bear.

The cub bumps into Keyleth’s chair, and whines low in his throat. Keyleth looks down, and says, “Aww! Hey, little guy, what are you doing so far away from the forest? You hungry?”

“Is that a _bear_?” says Pike, incredulously. “I didn’t know there were _bears_ around.”

“Trinket!” one of the half-elf twins calls, rushing over. She scoops the bear cub up in her arms and says, “No, _Trinket_ , don’t go wandering off. I’m sorry,” she says to them, “did he bother you? He’s a very curious little thing.”

“I’m sure he is,” says Percy, evenly.

“He didn’t!” says Keyleth. “Is Trinket really his name? What’s yours?”

“Yes, it is his name,” says the woman, “and—it’s Ellora.”

Percy’s not quite sure if it is, from that hesitation before her name. But he doesn’t ask, doesn’t even want to think too much on it. Whatever her reasons for hiding, they don’t have anything to do with him, or Keyleth and Pike.

“I’m Elviras,” says the other half-elf, the man in leathers, scooting his chair closer to the three of them.

“I’m Keyleth!” says Keyleth, eager.

“Pike,” says Pike, waving hello. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you guys.”

Damn, Percy’s going to have to follow suit. He says, “Percy,” and holds back the rest. They don’t need to know who he is, and this is too public a place to tell anyone at all. Even Pike and Keyleth. “How did you manage to bring a bear into a tavern?”

“I’ve got a good rapport with the barkeep,” says Ellora, and she winks at the bartender. “Helped along by a couple of silvers, of course.”

Pike counts out the last of the coppers, and pushes Percy’s share across to him. It’s sizable enough that he could get the materials for the repairs he needs to make, with some haggling over the prices. “I’m a little surprised he didn’t try to make you pay more,” she says. “I’ve been trying to get him to shave a little off his prices for the ale for a few days now.”

“It’s a whole thing,” says Keyleth, with a sigh. “He won’t do it. I think it’s partly something to do with the breweries?”

“The Baumbach brewery,” says Percy, calmly, “is full of _lies_ , that’s why.”

Pike pats his hand. “Anyway,” she says, “what are you guys doing here, anyway?”

“Just passing through, on our way up to Zadash,” says Elviras. “We thought we’d stop over, try the beer here.”

“Must’ve been some good beer,” says Percy, eyeing the bruises.

“ _Very_ good beer,” says Elviras, meeting Percy’s gaze and giving him a smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which are watching all of them like a hawk.

So’s Ellora, in fact. “So good that you got punched in the face for it,” she mutters. “What are you three doing here?”

“Passing through,” says Percy.

“I’m on my way to the Earth Ashari,” says Keyleth. “But before then I’m—seeing the world.”

“I’m also passing through on my way to the temple of Sarenrae in the north,” says Pike. “My uncle heard some rumors about it, and I’m here to see if they’re true.” She doesn’t say they’re the unsavory rumors, of the Empire’s corruption slowly creeping into the Everlight’s hallowed grounds, but Percy’s done his listening. He’s fairly certain that’s what she’s really following up on.

“And to see a show,” adds Keyleth. “Did you guys see the tents going up?”

“Uh, yeah, we did,” says Ellora. “Seems like the circus is in town for a while, although I’m surprised you noticed.”

“It’s a big-ass tent, sister, of course someone would notice,” says Elviras. He turns his chair around now, rests his elbows on the backrest as his gaze flicks over the three of them, as if assessing a threat. “Are you all going to see the show?”

Percy smiles thinly at him, wondering if _he’s_ a threat too. He’d certainly displayed an interest in the coin on the table, now disappearing rapidly into pockets.

“It’d be a great way to cap off our stay here, yeah,” says Pike. “You?”

“Still thinking about it,” says Ellora. “It does look like a good time, but I don’t know how much just coming in might cost.”

“I think I have a flyer, the cost was on it,” says Keyleth, rummaging around in her pack as Percy props his elbow up on the table.

“Have you two been traveling long?” he asks.

Ellora looks at Elviras, who shrugs and says, “Not that long. We’re seeing the world together, like we always said we would.”

“What about you three?” says Ellora, now pulling up a chair to sit in between the two tables. Trinket the bear wriggles in her arms, and she settles him onto her lap. “You’re a strange trio, to be traveling together.”

“At first we weren’t a trio,” says Pike. “I met Keyleth on the road, um, two, three weeks ago? Three weeks ago.”

“She says _met_ ,” says Keyleth, with a quiet huff of laughter. “I tripped and fell into a ditch, and broke my ankle like an idiot. Pike came by and helped me out, and we’ve been traveling together since.”

“It’s a lot easier on the road when you’ve got someone else watching your back,” says Pike.

“And how about you?” says Elviras, nodding to Percy.

“I’ve known them for a week,” says Percy. “I’ve been working here for a couple of months, for the— _god_ , for the Baumbachs.” He shakes his head in disgust at the thought of them, takes a sip of his beer—a Husseldorf beer, thank god. He’ll take even this too-sweet swill over the Baumbachs’, any day.

“They threw him into jail,” Keyleth helpfully supplies. “We cleared his name and got him out, and then we just stuck together.”

“Yes, thank you, they absolutely needed to know that,” Percy mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face and avoiding Elviras’ and Ellora’s eyes. “Don’t spread that around, word has a way of getting around, and I have enough problems with getting and staying employed already.”

“If you’re planning to stay here,” says Pike. “I mean. Are you?”

“God, no,” says Percy. “I only needed the coin.”

The door opens, then, and two figures step inside: one’s a gnome like Pike, barely taller than a child with a bright grin and a stack of flyers in hand. He hops from table to table, sings a song, leaves a flyer for the more appreciative ones. Behind him trails a larger figure, a goliath with an axe on his back.

Percy’s hand drops to his gun, holstered at his waist.

Pike looks up, and she stands up, her eyes wide. “Grog!” she calls.

The goliath turns. His eyes grow wide too, and Percy sees his face split into a delighted grin. “Pike!” he shouts back, and Percy yanks his tankard out of the way, just in time for Pike to jump onto the table and launch herself at the goliath with a squeal of delight.

“The hell,” he says.

“Oh, you three are _very_ interesting,” says Elviras, raising an eyebrow.

\--

Pike almost knocks Grog to the ground, so hard does she launch herself at him. She’ll apologize later to Percy and Keyleth, for almost stepping in their drinks, but right now—

It’s been too long, really, since she last saw her brother. She wants this much. She _needs_ this much.

Grog manages to hold his ground against her, and he laughs, the sound echoing off the walls of the tavern. He lifts her up easily, even with her armor on, and hugs her tight.

“I missed you!” says Pike.

“I missed you too!” says Grog. “Did y’get my letters? Or, anyway, the letters li’l Jessie wrote for me. She’s _great_ , y’gotta meet her.”

“I got them, I got them,” says Pike. “Not _all_ of them, I had to leave to catch a ship to Nicodranas, but Uncle Wilhand sent me as many as he could—you joined a _circus_ , that’s amazing!”

“It’s great, I get paid to toss people outta my tent when they’re bein’ all stupid an’ shit,” says Grog, setting her down. “Wilhand said y’were comin’ over, take a look-see at the temple up north.”

“Yeah, I’m planning on doing that,” says Pike, “but—oh, your circus is in town? I can make some time to watch. Are you in a show?”

“Nope,” says Grog. “Ain’t got much of an act.” He grins broadly once more, and says, “But ‘m’real good at throwin’ people out on their arses, and that’s good ‘nough for me.”

“Hel _lo_ , stranger,” says the gnome that Grog came in with, and Pike turns to see him—a man in shades of purple with a blinding bright grin and a lute, tipping a shabby hat at her. “Grog, you never told me you had a beautiful sister hidden away!”

“Never asked,” Grog rumbles.

“I asked twice!”

“ _Never_ asked.”

“We’re adoptive siblings,” says Pike, sticking her hand out. “Pike Trickfoot. And you must be Scanlan—Grog’s been telling me about you in his letters.”

“Good things, I hope,” says Scanlan, winking flirtatiously at her. Pike feels her cheeks heat, and looks away to Keyleth and Percy.

“I told her ‘bout the time you and I got into that bar brawl,” says Grog.

“There’s been quite a lot of bar brawls,” says Scanlan. “And we’ve won more than our fair share—”

“Oh, I remember that letter,” says Pike, slamming her fist into her open palm as the memory resurfaces. “The one that happened because you tried to sweet-talk the bartender into your bed, right? And her wife came out of the kitchen to punch you?”

“That was a great fight,” says Grog, nostalgic.

Scanlan’s smile freezes onto his face. “Oh,” he says. “That one.”

“We got banned from the bar, ‘cause of the fightin’ and the flirtin’,” says Grog, “but it was _worth it_.” He looks down at Pike now and says, “But enough ‘bout that, what’re you gettin’ up to now?”

“I’ve been traveling with some people lately,” says Pike, taking Grog’s hand to lead him over to the table, where Percy and Keyleth are. “You’ll like them, they’re good people.”

“They’re goin’ with you,” says Grog, as if the goodness of Pike’s companions isn’t even something that should be debated. “‘Course they are.”

“Hey, _hey_ , don’t leave me behind!” huffs Scanlan, and he hurries to catch up with Pike and Grog. He’s handsome, certainly, Pike won’t deny that—the boyish grin, the curl of brown hair falling just right out of his cap, the bright eyes? She appreciates his appearance, certainly.

It’s just, you know. The guy’s first instinct was to hit on her, which says a lot about him. Besides that, she has Grog’s stories as a warning.

She smiles at Scanlan, polite and kind, and gives him a nod. Then she pulls a chair up for Grog, and hops back up into her own chair.

Percy’s watching Grog, she notes, like a hawk. Or a street cat, wary of newcomers offering their hand out to him. She can’t really blame him, there’s something— _heavy_ about Percy, like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Guys,” says Pike, “this is Grog. He’s my brother and my best friend.”

Keyleth stands up, sticks her hand out, and says, “Oh, hi! It’s wonderful to meet you at last, Grog, Pike has told us so much about you. I’m Keyleth, of the Air Ashari, and this is—”

“Percy,” Percy supplies. “Pike did not tell us you were a goliath.” He nods to Scanlan and says, “And this is…?”

“Scanlan Shorthalt,” says Scanlan, hopping up onto the table and giving an exaggerated bow to Percy, then to the rest of the table. Pike doesn’t miss the way Percy seems to shift in his seat, uncomfortable, and reaches out to pat his shoulder. “I come with the Moondrop & Fletching Traveling Carnival of Curiosities! We’re putting on shows all week, and we would _love_ to have you all there, for five coppers a head. It’s practically a _steal_.”

“How generous of you,” says Ellora, smiling saccharinely.

Elviras says, “I saw your tent going up— _very_ distinctive, that. We were wondering if we could drop by.”

“Of course you can!” says Scanlan, with a grin. He’s a showman to his core, Pike can see that, he passes out the flyers with a flourish and talks up the circus and the show they’ll see. _A show like nothing else you have ever seen before,_ he tells them. _You’ll tell your friends about this! Your children, your grandchildren, your great-grandchildren! Strangers asking for drinks in a pub will beg to hear of what you saw this night!_

“I rather doubt it,” Percy murmurs to Pike, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

“You could be surprised,” Pike whispers back.

The look Percy gives her is almost exactly the kind of look most of the Trickfoot clan would’ve given her, once upon a time, the kind that said _god, Pike, you sweet dear soul, you don’t know_. Percy’s look, however, does not have the added sting of _we’ll train you out of that soon enough_.

It’s hardly any better, but this is Percy—in the time that Pike has known him, she’s figured out that he’s running from something. What it is, she isn’t sure yet, but she’s in no hurry to find out. What she is sure of is that he’s sometimes kind of insufferable.

“Oh, cool,” says Keyleth, practically vibrating with delight, “we have another flyer now!”

“And who are you two?” says Scanlan, gesturing expansively towards the twins.

“Not with them,” says Ellora. “Although, it’s been a while since we last saw the circus, right?”

“I’m Elviras, that’s Ellora, and _that’s_ Trinket,” says Elviras. “And yeah, it has been a while—I don’t think I’ve seen a show as spectacular as the one you’re promising in years.” A corner of his mouth turns upward, and he says, “I hope it lives up to all this hype.”

“Splendid!” says Scanlan. “Oh, and Miss Pike—”

“Just Pike, thanks,” says Pike.

“—I could, perhaps, be persuaded into giving you a song or two,” says Scanlan. “It’s just an extra two copper usually, but for you, I could perhaps—”

“Uh, no,” says Grog, pulling Scanlan off the table and setting him unceremoniously down on the ground. Pike manages, just barely, to rein in her laugh. “C’mon, Jessie’s waitin’, and I bet she’s gettin’ impatient right about now.” He turns to Pike now, and smiles. “Was real good seein’ you, Pike,” he rumbles.

“C’mere, big guy,” says Pike, holding her arms out. Grog laughs, and picks her up off her chair, dragging her in for a hug. “Oof! I’ve missed you!”

“Missed you too,” Grog says, and if she holds on just a little too tight, is just a little too reluctant to let go of him so soon, he doesn’t say a word.

She’s grateful for that.

\--

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me anything about her!” says Scanlan, as he and Grog make the trek out of town and back to the circus. It’s been a very productive day, if he does say so himself, but Scanlan can’t quite get Pike out of his head—her eyes, the purple streak in her dark hair, her laugh like music. “Grog! I thought we were friends!”

“We are,” says Grog.

“But you didn’t tell me about her!” says Scanlan.

“I didn’t,” says Grog.

“Why not?!”

Grog shrugs, and says, “She’s very—whassaword? _Par-ti-cu-lar_. I’m lookin’ out for the both of you, really. Don’t want you mopin’ ‘round ‘cause she said no.”

The hell of it is, Scanlan would almost believe him, if not for the fact that Grog’s eyes keep darting away from him. Grog is shit at lying, has always been since Scanlan met him, and this is one of his glaringly gigantic tells.

“Uh-huh,” says Scanlan, squinting up at him. “Sure you don’t.”

“Scanlan! Grog!” calls a young woman’s voice as the tents loom larger and larger over them. Scanlan turns to look, and sees Jessie’s brown and white-streaked hair, the dark glare in her eyes, and the half-collapsed tent she’s trying to put back up. “It took you long enough to get back here! Can one of you _help_ me?”

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” huffs Scanlan. Grog gets there first, though, by dint of being a goliath and thus a great deal larger than Scanlan.

“What happened here?” Grog says. “We were just gone, what, an hour?”

“Three,” Jessie corrects.

Toya peeks out from behind her legs and says, “How was it?”

“Lovely town, lovely people,” says Scanlan. “We’ll be having quite the audience tonight! Gustav’s going to be so happy.”

“Well, great,” says Jessie, “but if this thing doesn’t go up we’ll be short a game, and _Ornna’s_ not going to be happy.”

“She’s not happy a lot though,” Grog points out. “Sometimes just ‘cause.”

“She’s _never_ happy, there’s not much of a point in trying,” says Scanlan, but he rolls up his sleeves anyway and dives in to help.

\--

It’s not a _conscious_ decision to go together, is the thing. Vax had even thought he and Vex would probably not even catch the three weirdos at the circus, considering how popular those things are, but—

Well, when he steps out onto the tavern’s main room after a day spent figuring out the quickest exits from town, the gnome, Pike, is already at the door, clearly waiting for someone.

Which is weird, because both her friends are already there: Keyleth, bouncing back and forth on her heels, and Percy, his back against the doorway, halfway out the door. The world outside is starting to grow dark, the sun retreating behind the horizon, the sky a splash of orange turning, slowly, to the darker colors of night.

“Oh!” Pike says when she catches sight of him and Vex. “Hey, guys, you can come with us!”

“We’re going the same way anyway,” says Keyleth, smiling brightly, “it’s just—easier. Strength in numbers and all.” She fidgets with her sleeve, her hair, everything she could possibly fidget with, rocking back and forth on her heels.

Percy doesn’t say anything, but the way he watches the both of them, wary and suspicious, says something about any possible dissenting opinion with his companions. Smart man. Perhaps a little too clever for his own good.

“Well, darlings,” says Vex, resting her elbow on Vax’s shoulder as Trinket clambers happily down the stairs, “if you put it that way, how could we possibly refuse? Lead the way.”

So Vax finds himself trailing behind the group. He doesn’t even have the company of Vex this time, because Trinket’s nosing up to Keyleth, and where Trinket is, Vex is also sure to be, so she’s talking with Keyleth as well.

“—such a cute bear!” Keyleth’s gushing. She’s scooped Trinket up into her arms, and the bear cub is wriggling in her grip, trying to get comfortable. “How did you two meet?”

Vex just smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I found him in the woods,” she says, “and his mother was—she didn’t make it. So I raised him instead.”

There’s a story behind that short answer, just like there had been when Vex had first returned to their campsite with a bear cub, Vax thinks, but whatever it is, it’s not one he’s privy to. It stings, knowing that—once upon a time he and Vex told each other everything, but they’re not children anymore, and they have only been together again for months. He doesn’t know Vex like the back of his hand, anymore. The years apart have made sure of that.

“Oh,” says Keyleth, sounding sad. “At least he has you, though. And Elviras.” She shifts her grip on Trinket around, and says, “How long have all three of you been traveling together?”

“A few months,” says Vex, as they come to a stop near one of the breweries on the way to the circus. “We picked up Trinket on the road, and we’ve just been together ever since.” Her head tilts upward, and she says, “I thought we were going to the circus?”

“We are,” says Pike, already halfway inside, “but first I need to buy Grog a gift. He’d love this beer.” She pokes her head out from the doorway and says, “Do the rest of you want to come inside?”

“Sure!” says Keyleth. “Are we day-drinking?”

“Hopefully!” says Pike.

“That sounds like a plan,” says Vex, “count me in,” and she’s off with the two girls. Vax catches her glancing back at him, and waves her off. At least Vex is having fun.

Then Percy, who’s somehow fallen in beside him, says, “Not going in?”

Vax folds his arms across his chest and shakes his head. “I’m not a big fan of the Husseldorfs’ brew, honestly,” he says. “It’s a little too sweet for me.”

“For me too,” says Percy. “But if it’s a choice between them and the Baumbachs, I’ll take the Husseldorfs.” He tucks his hands into his pockets, glances sideways at Vax. “I thought you came here for the beer, though.”

“We did,” says Vax, lying. “My sister and I heard of the town’s reputation, and we figured it wouldn’t hurt to try. She likes it—I think it’s a bit overblown.”

“It is,” says Percy.

“Oh?” says Vax.

“The Baumbachs have been running something of a scam for a while,” says Percy. “I—found out about it, recently, while working for them. They didn’t take it very well.”

“Yes, the jail thing,” says Vax.

“That wasn’t the Baumbachs,” says Percy, simply. “Pike and Keyleth thought it was.”

“Why not disabuse them of the notion?” Vax asks, turning now to truly take in the man beside him. There’s a regality in his posture, despite the shabby clothes, that reminds Vax of his sister somehow—her back ramrod straight, spine like steel. Percy, like Vex, seems out of place here in Trostenwald, his tattered coat and cheap glasses not quite enough to help him blend into the background.

“They don’t need to know the real reason I was thrown in jail,” says Percy. “You don’t either.”

“I wasn’t asking,” says Vax. “But if they didn’t throw you in jail, what did they do?”

“They just fired me and ruined all prospects of employment in any other breweries for me,” says Percy, with a shrug. “It’s not much of a loss, all things considered. I never did like working for them.”

“It surprises me you even considered the idea,” says Vax. “You don’t exactly seem the type.”

Percy’s eyes slide towards him. Something about them draws Vax’s attention, despite his best efforts to tear himself away. “Desperation can drive one to do a lot of things they never thought they’d do,” Percy says, simply. “But I think you knew that, already.”

All too well, but Vax doesn’t answer. “And now you’re working with a gnome and a druid,” he says. “That’s not a sight you see everyday.” A noble, fallen from grace, a gnome cleric of Sarenrae, and a half-elf druid far from home—it’s an odd little trio. Odder still, with Vax and Vex and Trinket tagging along.

“It’s more that they rescued me and I owed them a favor,” Percy replies. “They’re—They’re good people, Pike and Keyleth.”

“And you?” says Vax.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a very good person,” says Percy, evasively. “Enough about me—what about you and Ellora?”

“Ellora’s a good person,” says Vax. “I’m—still working on it. But she watches my back, and I watch hers, and that’s enough for me.” He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, and huffs out a breath.

“And Trinket?”

“Trinket,” says Vax, “watches our ankles.”

“I meant, how did you pick him up?”

Vax lets his head fall back against the brick, and huffs out a breath. “I don’t know,” he says. “One day my sister disappeared, and then showed up with a bear cub. She didn’t say where she’d gone, only that she’d found him in the woods and she was raising him.”

“I imagine you didn’t take that news well,” says Percy, dryly.

“I didn’t,” says Vax. “But—Ellora’s stubborn when she puts her mind to something. So I ended up with a bear cub for a nephew.”

“A _what now_ ,” says Percy, and for the first time since Vax met him, something other than wary watchfulness crosses his features: unguarded shock. It’s a delight, honestly. Vax had half-thought the man some kind of automaton or something, with his features so calm and collected most of the time.

“The way she dotes on him, he’s practically her son,” says Vax, cheerful. “So by extension I guess that means he’s basically my nephew now.” He shrugs. “He grows on you.”

“And sheds on you too,” says Percy, but his eyes cut away from Vax, as if catching something off in the distance. By now it’s starting to get truly dark, and the lamplighters have turned out onto the streets to attend to their duties. “Is that what I think it is?”

A faint tune comes drifting through the air, the melody plucked from the strings of a lute. Vax turns, and sees a hurricane of colors coming towards them, a procession of brightly-colored performers taking over the night.

“What’s going on out there?” says Keyleth, poking her head out from the brewery. She’s not quite drunk, her eyes bright and alert, and she comes to stand next to Percy. “Oh my god!”

“Let me see, let me see!” Pike calls, with a cask of ale that looks just a little too large for her size, and Percy turns and lifts her up with a grunt. “Oh, _wow_ , is that Grog?”

Vax squints. Yep, there’s Pike’s goliath friend, flexing for the crowd as light-footed Shorthalt prances around on his biceps. He’s painted in bright red stripes now, crossing over his chest to make a fearsome pattern. It’s a stark contrast to Shorthalt, who’s dressed in bright purples and whites, the picture of a court jester.

There’s more than one instrument in play here—Vax can hear a violin accompanying the lute, and his eyes fall on the bald, gaudily-dressed man just ahead of Grog and Scanlan, his face painted in sunset-orange and chalk-white colors. He spins in place, the tails of his bright red frock coat flying out behind him, as two halflings dressed in tight green suits dance out and away from the procession. Flyers seem to fly all over the place, and Vax catches one out of midair.

Pike, laughing, shouts, “Yeah, Grog! You look amazing!”

Grog doesn’t respond, but he grins at Pike and gives her a thumbs-up. Behind him, a half-orc man with a handlebar mustache drums out a steady beat, keeping up with Shorthalt and the violinist’s frantic, energetic pace. The two dancers in front part, and a half-elf woman in a tight orange and glittery dress steps forward and _breathes fire_.

Shorthalt takes a moment to wink at Pike. Vax glances back and chuckles, when Vex winks back instead.

The procession comes closer, and somewhere in it Vax spies a young girl in bright blue and silver clothes, a streak of white in her otherwise dark hair. She’s juggling daggers in her hand, and already at a glance Vax is pretty sure those are not made of metal. She grins at the crowd, at the children ooh-ing and aah-ing, and then passes them by.

Vax watches the procession go by, then turns to the rest of the group. Again, he sees unguarded shock on Percy’s face, like the man just saw a ghost.

“What…?” Percy starts.

“That,” whispers Keyleth, “was _so cool_.”

“Right?” says Vex. “Come on, let’s get moving! Maybe we could beat them to the tent!”

\--

They do not beat the procession to the tent. In fact, they’re behind much of the crowd, although Pike doesn’t really mind. She catches sight of carnival games and little sideshows and even a fortune teller, and it’s quite the show.

Percy stares at the fortune teller, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing in front of him. Pike looks up at him and says, “So—do you want to get your fortune told?”

Percy startles, and says, “I—I don’t know. I don’t exactly trust fortune tellers.”

Pike decides not to point out that he was staring at one just now like he’d seen a ghost. Seems a sensitive subject. Instead she just says, “You don’t have to. Most of the time they just cold-read you—I had an aunt who used to tell fortunes, she used to complain about her eyesight making it harder for her to read people.”

“One would imagine you wouldn’t be this excited to get your fortune told,” Percy notes, as Pike takes him by the hand and all but drags him over to the fortune teller.

“I want to know just what kind of bullshit this one could spin for me,” says Pike, cheerful, and that gets a little chuckle out of him. She smiles, warmth blooming inside of her chest like a flower in spring. “Don’t you?”

“I may just watch, instead,” says Percy, but he lets her pull him along, so there’s hope yet.

They make it to the tent, as the old farmer who’d taken up the space in front stands and limps away. Pike waves him goodbye, and sits down in front of the fortune teller, a young woman with white streaks in her hair along her temples. The same woman who’d been juggling daggers in the procession, she thinks, as she sets the cask down beside herself.

“Here for a reading?” says the woman, leaning forward.

Percy, behind Pike, makes a choked little noise.

“Is your friend all right back there?” the woman asks, brow furrowing with concern. Pike turns, her hand going up to the holy symbol of Sarenrae under her shirt, and sees Percy staring at the fortune teller like she just punched him in the gut.

“I’m fine,” says Percy, shaking his head. “I just—I didn’t—I need some air.”

And he very quickly backs away from them, mouthing apologies to Pike as he retreats back to the group. Pike frowns, and stands to follow after him, ask if he is all right, but then the fortune teller catches her sleeve.

“I think he’ll be fine,” the woman says. “He seems like he can take care of himself.”

“Yeah, but I worry,” Pike says, turning back to her.

“Something tells me you don’t need to,” says the woman. “You came here for a reading, did you not?”

“Yeah,” says Pike, sitting back down.

The woman smiles, and starts shuffling her cards. Pike glances down at her hands, watching carefully, but the woman says, “I saw you in the crowd, earlier, calling out to Grog.”

“Oh,” says Pike, looking up to meet the woman’s eyes. “Yeah, I—Grog’s my best friend, we’ve been sending letters to each other.”

“Oh, you’re Pike!” says the woman, eyes lighting up. “He talks about you a lot. He asked me to help him write to you, in fact.”

“You must be Jessie,” says Pike, recognition dawning. “He mentioned you were taking his letters down for him! Thank you so much for that, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” says Jessie, with a smile. “Grog’s a good friend, and it’s nice having him around when pub crawls go nasty.”

“Yeah,” says Pike, with a bright grin as the memory of the last time she and Grog went on a pub crawl, back in Westruun, bubbles up to the forefront of her mind, “yeah, he’s a great guy to have on your side.”

“And very terrifying to go up against,” Jessie agrees, cutting and shuffling the cards. She spreads them out on the table, and says, “Now, what we’ll be doing here is a three-card spread—you’ll draw three cards from the top of the deck, representing the past, the present, and the future, and I’ll interpret what kind of advice they’re trying to impart. It’s up to you if you want to take the advice they give you.”

“I’ll take it under consideration,” Pike promises, and picks three cards from the top.

The woman, with ceremony, places the three cards face-down on the table. “Turn a card over,” she says. “For your present.”

Pike takes the center card and turns it over. A woman kneels next to a river, on the front, and a star shines upon her from the night sky.

“You’re a holy woman, make no mistake about that,” says Jessie. “Your faith in your deity fuels you, and you want to do all that you can for her. You’d go to hell and back, if that’s what it takes, if that’s where she sends you. And you have faith in the people around you as well—you’re determined not to fail them, because they’ve put their trust in you. You’re determined not to fail her, because she’s put her trust in you, on the quest that she’s given you.”

That much is obvious—Pike wears the holy symbol of Sarenrae with pride. Her fingers reach up to touch the well-worn symbol, and she smiles. “Okay, how about this one?” she asks, turning over the card on the left.

Ten cups on a shelf in a cozy little home greet her eyes, first, and four figures dance together on the counter underneath it: a gnomish couple and their two children. There’s a joy in the movements that makes Pike’s breath catch in her throat.

The card is reversed—all wrong. Jessie lets out a gusty sigh.

“You’ve definitely been failed before, by your family,” she says. “That—honestly makes more sense, given the Star. You’re distant from them, disappointed in them, and you don’t want that same disappointment on you. You would likely work yourself down to the bone, to keep it from falling on you. This card,” she says, tapping the reversed card, “means that you either need to repair those bonds—”

Fat fucking chance.

“—or you forge new ones, independent of blood,” Jessie goes on, and there’s barely a hint of haste in her voice. “But you are good enough. You don’t have to martyr yourself, to prove that.”

“I think that’s a little much,” says Pike, biting back her desire to snap at the girl. She doesn’t know all that for certain, she’s just cold-reading Pike as best as she can.

“Last card,” says Jessie, and Pike turns it over.

A half-elf woman, with scales in one hand, sword in the other, and a blindfold over her eyes, sits in a simple chair. Her chin is tipped upwards, her mouth stern, frizzy dark hair tied into a severe bun.

“You’ll find the truth, at the end of this divine quest,” says Jessie. “The decisions you make now are crucial to that truth, to the success of your quest. The people around you—pay attention to them. They can help you, and you don’t have to take all of this burden onto yourself. Your friends, the family that you choose, they’re there to help you. Trust them to do that, and at the end of this your labors will draw fruit.” She reshuffles the deck, sliding the cards back into place, and says, “And my labors require three copper.”

Pike slides three copper across the counter and says, “You’re pretty good at this.”

“Thanks,” says Jessie.

“My aunt would hate you,” Pike adds. “You do this thing where you distract people, by saying you’ve seen them before in the crowd, and I just want you to know, you can’t rely on that distraction tactic too much.” She smiles up at Jessie, whose eyes have widened a little, and says, “You’re pretty perceptive, though. You’ll go far, I think.”

“—thank you,” says Jessie. “You’re very perceptive yourself.” She shakes her head, huffs out a laugh. “No wonder Grog likes you. Speaking of which,” and she nods to the tent entrance, where Pike’s group has somehow gotten embroiled into a small argument with Grog now, with Scanlan perched on his shoulder, “you should probably keep your friends from trying to sneak their weapons past him.”

“Oh, great,” Pike groans, and walks on up to the rest of the group, leaving Jessie behind.

\--

“This is an _expensive_ firearm, I can’t just hand it over to you—”

“This is my _mother’s_ staff, and I’m a druid, what do you think I’m going to do, hit someone with it—”

“What’s going on here?” says Pike, and Grog breathes a sigh of relief. Scanlan knows, because the shoulder he’s perched on top of slumps significantly, and he takes that as a sign to hop down immediately.

“ _Pike_ ,” says Grog, voice full of relief. “I’m tryin’ to do my job here, could you make your friends make it easier on me?”

“I’ve got an idea,” says Ellora. “We could help you guys out, and in exchange we can keep all our shit.”

“Help us out with what?” says Scanlan.

“We’re _very_ good at keeping people out,” says Elviras. “We could be deputy bouncers.”

“Yeah, thanks, but no thanks,” says Grog, annoyed. He glances at Pike, and Scanlan watches as she pulls out the mace on her back and hands it over to him without a word. “Thanks, Pike.”

“You’re welcome,” says Pike, warmly. “Oh, and this one’s yours,” she adds, handing over a large cask of something alcoholic. Large for her, anyway, but it looks comically _tiny_ in Grog’s hands.

“But we’re _very helpful_ ,” Ellora says. She’s holding her damn bear cub, who snuffles and does his best to look _cute_ , the little thing. Scanlan narrows his eyes at it. He doesn’t quite trust it.

“Why don’t you leave the bear cub with Grog here,” he says.

“ _No_ ,” says Ellora. “Absolutely not.”

“He’s a cute bear cub, I’m not gonna hurt him,” Grog says, reassuring.

“I’m _not_ handing Trinket over to any of you,” snaps Ellora, already pulling her bow off of her back with enough force that Scanlan’s pretty sure the string’s going to snap. “He stays with me. You want my damn bow, fine, you want my arrows, _fine_ , but the bear stays with me, understand?”

“He’s her therapy animal,” Elviras supplies, and that’s the biggest lie Scanlan has ever heard.

“There-a-what now,” says Grog.

“Guys, just hand your weapons over, you’ll get them back after this,” sighs Pike, and Scanlan spins around, half-ready to kiss her just for that. Then she adds, “But the bear stays with Ellora,” and Scanlan deflates a little. Well, he supposes, nobody’s perfect, but he’s keeping an eye on the bear.

Percy shoots Grog a look, and very reluctantly presses the firearm into his hand. “Do _not_ break it,” he says. “Don’t pull the trigger, don’t point it at anyone, do not even _think_ about using it because I guarantee you, trying will only hurt you.”

“All right, all right, I won’t,” Grog mutters, mulish. Scanlan bets he’s probably going to fire that thing just for the hell of it at some point. If, of course, Scanlan himself doesn’t steal it off him first.

Elviras pulls one dagger from his belt. Then another. Then another. Then two more from up his sleeves, then a tiny little knife from his pocket. “Keep an eye on these, big guy,” he says.

Keyleth, with a gusty sigh, passes her staff over. “Keep it safe,” she says.

“I only broke somebody’s staff _once_ ,” huffs Grog. “Ain’t like that’s a habit!”

“I’m already regretting this so much,” Percy mutters.

“Oh, don’t!” says Scanlan. “Think of it as a temporary price to pay, to see the show of a lifetime!” He gestures inside, and says, grandly, “Which should start in—five minutes, so go get your front-row seats while there’s still front-row seats.”

“Three minutes,” Bo the Breaker says, poking his head out of the tent. “There’s still enough vacant seats in the front row for most of you!”

Pike taps Grog’s hand and says, “Can I—”

“For you?” says Grog, with a grin. “Always.” And he puts the dangerous weapons in a sack, as carefully as possible, so he can lift Pike up onto his back. She laughs, the kind of laughter that carries a melody all its own, and Scanlan’s heart jumps into his throat. He swallows it back down.

“Hey, Grog,” he says, instead, “isn’t there a charge for carrying people? About five gold?” He winks at Pike and adds, “Of course, I could shave some gold off that price—”

“Oh,” says Pike, “okay, let me pay that—”

“Nah, nah,” says Grog, lifting up the sack. Metal clinks, smacks against wood, and Scanlan catches sight of Percy’s wince. “It’s free for you.”

The two of them head inside, first. Scanlan shakes his head, and watches the rest of the motley little group of dumbasses walk inside. The last one inside is Elviras, who stops next to Scanlan and looks down at him.

“Little man, you really need to work on that,” he says, dryly.

“Big man,” says Scanlan, looking up at him, “I haven’t even started.”

“If you’re done flirting with the audience members, Scanlan?” says Jessie, right behind them. Scanlan startles somewhat, and quietly curses the day Gustav taught their little amnesiac the tricks he’d picked up, once upon a time.

“Just the _one_ ,” he huffs, turning to Elviras, but the half-elf has already disappeared into the tent. “You done out here?”

“For the night, yeah,” says Jessie, falling in step beside him. “Did you see that man with the white hair, by any chance?”

“Uh, yeah, earlier, when we were passing out flyers,” Scanlan says, sidestepping a huffy local trying to bargain with Bo. “Why? Got a crush on him?”

“He isn’t my type,” says Jessie, flatly. “No, I just—he was looking at me like he saw a ghost.”

“That’s so rude of him,” says Scanlan.

“That’s one way to put it,” says Jessie, absently, rubbing at her forearms. “Something about him, though—I’m not sure what it is, but I think I’ve seen him before.”

Scanlan frowns. “ _Before_ , before?” he asks.

“Probably,” says Jessie. “I don’t know for sure, and something tells me he wouldn’t say either, if I asked.” She sighs, and rocks back on her heels. “But the way he _looked_ when he saw me—it was like I’d come back from the dead to haunt him, personally. And I don’t even know who he is.”

“Want me to keep an eye on him?” says Scanlan.

“Please do,” says Jessie.

\--

For an hour or so, and even despite himself, and despite the shock of the fortune teller’s _face_ , Percy actually manages to enjoy the show.

It helps that it’s a _good_ one. He’s drawn in when the halfling acrobats climb up, up, _up_ the center pole, twining and weaving together, almost serpentine in their movements. They drop to the ground with a grace that he envies, and he looks to the side, Vesper’s name on his lips.

He sees Keyleth, instead, similarly enraptured. Her eyes are wide, her mouth slightly parted, and she’s scooted as close as possible to the show without breaking the line entirely. Percy shakes away the thought of Vesper, and looks back at the show.

It goes on, the music mesmerizing, haunting him. Ornna the fire fairy emerges, flames burning bright against the darkness, and Percy’s spellbound in a way not even magic could do to him. When was the last time he’d seen a show like this?

When he was still a _de Rolo_ , comes the answer, but they are dead and gone now and Percy is a ghost. But for a little while, he feels more alive.

Things, of course, go wrong. Horribly so.

It starts when the dwarven girl sings to the—the creature, what’s it called, the one that looks like lizardfolk, the devil-toad. Tears prick the corners of Percy’s eyes, and he ducks his head down to start wiping at them with the slightly grubby sleeve of his coat.

Then he hears an agonized shout, a gasp, the sound of bone tearing through skin. He turns to see an old man, bent double, screaming as bones split through the flesh of his arms. Dust and blood pour onto the ground, and the audience backs away, screams, and Percy is frozen fast to the ground. The old man’s form swells and swells, growing larger and more grotesque as the audience members race for the exits, screaming and crying for help.

Distantly, he hears one of the carnival members, a half-orc, shouting, “Everyone! Leave the tent now! Kylre, get her to safety!”

Everyone around Percy stands. After a moment, Percy shakes off the shock and gets to his feet. The devil-toad has already leapt away with the dwarven singer, and the fortune teller, who looks _so much_ like Cassandra, is drawing her sword.

“Grog,” says Pike, stepping in front of them, holding her hand out to her goliath friend, “we’ll be needing our weapons back.”

Grog draws her mace out of the sack, then tosses the rest of them their weapons. Percy manages to catch his gun before it hits the ground, and breathes a quiet sigh of relief—it doesn’t _look_ broken.

He loads it up, takes aim.

“Is this part of the show?” Keyleth says.

“It’s a _terrible_ part,” Ellora agrees. Her bear cub growls low, crouching as if ready to attack. “Trinket, stay _back_.”

“It’s not a part of the show,” says the fortune teller.

“Too artsy for us,” Scanlan agrees, unsheathing a shortsword, magic gathering at his fingertips.

“I thought you didn’t let in the old and sick,” huffs Elviras, spinning the daggers in his hands.

“He said he wasn’t sick!” Grog says, taking the giant battleaxe from off his back.

The remnants of the old man finally stop shaking. He, or rather, _it_ turns to look at them, and bile rises in Percy’s throat to see him: a large, malformed beast that once had been a man, mangled and torn skin grey and stretched horrendously over a form that’s too big to fit inside it. Blood still drips from the wounds that killed him, where bones now jut through flesh, and when the thing turns, its blood-red eyes fix on them.

It grins. Or maybe that’s just Percy’s brain assigning meaning to the twisted, mangled grimace it wears now.

Then Pike throws out a blast of white-hot divine energy, slamming into the monster, and the fight begins.


End file.
